I am from dauntless stoicism,
and denounced belief.
I am from contagious outbursts,
hidden behind blissful carelessness.
I am from the persecution of ignorance,
and the love of knowledge.
I’m from cold nights
with warm books.
I’m from brown leaves,
and turkey dinners.
I’m from love and care,
and morals I don’t get.
I am from Christ,
born of the blood
only to turn the blood
into flames of disdain.
I am from certainty
in me, myself, and I.
I am from vocabulary
that fails me when I need it most.
I’m from a long-haired cat
purring on my lap.
I’m from pointless anime,
watched on pointless days,
with an all to pointed philosophy.
I’m from Ryserian, Thallus,
and countless others
whose stories wait to be told.
I’m from creating
when I thought there was nothing left to create.
I am from me,
and I’d never want to be from anything else.
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